


heavy

by strangesaturday



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Anal Sex, Android Sexuality, Communication, Data Has Android Emotions, Erotic Disassembly, Established Relationship, M/M, Omicron Theta, Out of Body Experiences, Softness, Technobabble, Waking Dreams, Wire Play, brief but very purple use of binary code, data's voice in thine own self amirite, their cat is present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesaturday/pseuds/strangesaturday
Summary: It started with a moan.
Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	heavy

**Author's Note:**

> [I made a tiny playlist to go with this, if that appeals to you!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2tKumTBxs4TmSuq6jpfVyD?si=FKeI8kzwQAaI7tzYlKCxzg)

It started with a moan. Geordi had Data bent over the workstation in their quarters, and Data was making the same soft, sweet sounds he normally did, and then he made a different one. It sounded like engine failure in deep space. Like an LCARS server dropped in a bathtub. Spot leapt from her slumber on the workstation’s keypad and hid under the bed.

A cursory self-diagnostic revealed a secondary subprocessor jostled free of its housing. As Geordi pored over his lover’s splayed rib cage, brushed his fingertips over the loose wiring, the sound ripped from Data’s throat again. It sounded like a bad subspace connection. Like the opening theme of an ancient black and white movie a kilometer underwater. Like ecstasy.

One anomalous moan is just that: an anomaly. But two? That’s enough to warrant a formal investigation. Because they were professionals, and because they shared a deep respect for the scientific method, they would explore the mystery thoroughly and to its end. A week’s worth of their off-duty hours were consumed in preparation, and on the seventh day, they convened.

The engineer leaned back in his seat at the little dining table, and the artificial humanoid sitting across from him watched his movements with careful attention. “To be honest, I’m a little nervous. The only time I’ve seen you really taken apart is when you’ve been injured. And, I mean— you getting disassembled is just about my worst nightmare.”

Data’s eyebrows arched with characteristic sincerity. “I do not wish for any form of intimacy I share with you to resemble a nightmare. If you are concerned our planned exploration might, we should not proceed.”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” Geordi rubbed his jaw. “It’s… like anything that has an element of risk. Like, uh, sadomasochistic stuff, for example. Lots of people like it in the context of the bedroom, but no one wants to see their partner hurt in real life. And sometimes you don’t know if the ‘bedroom’ version will bother you until you try it.”

Data made a crisp, affirmative noise. “I understand. You are interested in exploring disassembly with me. You are disturbed by the idea of me being forcibly disassembled, or damaged. Though our exploration will be safe and consensual, its proximity to that ‘nightmarish’ scenario may trigger a negative emotional response regardless.”

“Right, that’s exactly it.” Geordi leaned forward. “But I know what we’re getting into, and I know you’ll be safe— I  _ do _ want to do this with you.”

Data took the proffered hand.

Boundaries were established, the lights dimmed, uniforms disposed of with efficiency and Data lay on the bed. Geordi straddled his legs and opened him as he had done countless times before. There was music, low and a little sexy, not distractingly so. Data hummed along. Drawing in a breath, Geordi took a band of wiring between thumb and forefinger and unplugged the subprocessor which had previously come loose. Data did not moan. He did not even cease his quiet accompaniment.

Geordi planted his hands on his thighs. “Nothing?”

“Aside from a negligible dip in processing power, no.”

“Right. Well, it was worth a shot.” The engineer leaned off the side of the bed and retrieved his kit.

The panels that made up the front of Data’s rib cage were not designed to be removed: Geordi would have to cut the bioplast along the panels’ hinged edges to do so. He hesitated, turning the laser scalpel over and over, and Data gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. In another moment the twin panels were stacked carefully on the floor, and the engineer set about uncoupling the taught silicone muscles of Data’s core, teasing delicate interdependent systems apart, checking a PADD of his own meticulously drawn diagrams all the while. Data shifted onto his side to allow access to his back, the panels of which were likewise removed, and tapped a finger in 3/4 time as his body unraveled. An hour later, it was done, and he was hollow.

Geordi sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. Their shared quarters had come with a bigger bed but the space was barely large enough: it was covered in Data, the intimacies of his body blooming wide, radiating a web of wires and tubing and internal components now external. His right arm was folded under his head. The left rested gingerly atop the lattice of multiphasic wiring leading to his secondary subprocessor array, which was unpacked and arranged in a tidy grid pattern in front of him. His hydraulic coolant system spilled from his abdomen and trembled with each beat of his artificial heart. One knee hiked up to support the weight of his torso so that his legs and posterior were on full, marmoreal display, and the exposed duranium and polyalloy spine twisted and gleamed obscenely. Snaking alongside it, the hot bundle of his fiber optic spinal cord glowing magnificently in infrared.

What Geordi was looking at, he realized, was an exploded-view drawing of his beloved, an undone pinup arranged with perfect workspace discipline. All that was missing were the labels… maybe a pair of stockings. His draftsman’s mind buzzed with satisfaction. His cock twitched.

Data propped his head on his fist, an impressive maneuver in his current state. “Do I appear nightmarish?”

Geordi laughed and the sound was a touch desperate. “No. Oh, no. You look like a dream.”

“A dream?”

He swallowed. “Uh huh. The kind I usually keep to myself.”

The corners of Data’s lips curled. “One hour and thirteen minutes have passed since last we kissed.”

Geordi beamed. “Now that’s unacceptable.”

He balanced himself over Data’s body, taking great care not to crush any of the delicate components spread around them, and leaned into the awkward angle. Geordi sighed at the taste of silicone saliva on his tongue. Data’s already stiffening cock bumped against his inner thigh.

He spoke lowly into Data’s neck. “Ready?”

The artificial voice box rumbled against his cheek. “Ready.”

Geordi sat up. There, at his knee, the fuel reaction unit. He stroked its warm housing, to little effect. He rolled loops of throbbing arterial tubing in his palm, leaned down to nuzzle the lush pliancy of Data’s side. The android hummed softly: a decidedly Human utterance.

“Okay,” Geordi’s full lips brushed cool synthetic skin. “How about this—”

Reaching inside the cavity of his body he knotted his left hand in the base of Data’s spinal cord where luminous fibers bloomed from their crinkly plastic casing and branched into thighs and pelvis, and massaged the rubbery disc of proprioceptive tissue between Data’s L2 and L3 vertebrae with his right. The pad of his hand was nearly pinched between spinous processes as the android flexed and began to pant lightly, his unpacked powder-coated lungs expanding and contracting in a fitful, futile attempt at self-cooling. Geordi nodded to himself. That was more like it.

Back to the subprocessor array. Deft fingers detached one, two, all of the lower row of subprocessors from their wiring matrix, and for each one Geordi was rewarded with a little  _ unh  _ sound. He glanced up at the yellow eyes watching him.

“Available processing power reduced to ninety-two percent normal capacity,” Data announced.

“Wanna take that number a little lower?”

Data nodded, once, and Geordi continued.  _ Unh. Unh. Unh. _

Geordi hadn’t seen color until he was five years old, and even then the Terran sky which he knew to be blue was black as if in perpetual night, his own skin which he knew to be deep brown glowed orange and yellow and magenta. Conventions of Human communication are so profoundly steeped in emotional metaphor that many ideas are near impossible to express without it, like describing  _ gold _ without  _ yellow. _ Geordi knew this. So instead of,  _ how do you feel?  _ he asked:

“This working for you?”

Data (haloed in violet ultraviolet) answered haltingly. “The anomalous sequence we identified previously has activated, yes. And— a memory of walking with you in the marshlands of Betazed has risen unbidden to the fore.”

“That was a pretty spectacular afternoon.” The engineer grinned and trailed an appreciative caress down the interior of Data’s thoracic cavity, vacant save for the rigid plastate support structure which normally housed his subprocessor array, fingers stuttering over duranium ribs.

Now the top row of subprocessors, these a touch more substantial than those of the bottom row. As Geordi unplugged each unit, he placed it back in the tidy grid formation. That is, all but one. This he plugged into the lowest row of wiring, and Data’s eyes widened.

Geordi couldn’t help a delighted laugh. “What’s up, buddy?”

“My neural net is registering the improper connection as an energy drain. Fascinating. Please, continue.”

Snap. Snap. The topmost row of units were routed into the lowest stretch of wiring, and Data’s breathing became increasingly labored. His thoracic fans, situated near his head, activated and bathed their bodies in the faintest of breezes. Geordi asked the computer to lower the ambient temperature a couple of degrees. Tone lightly teasing, he asked Data:

“How many symphonies d’you think you could handle now?”

Data’s expression shifted from slack to contemplative. Between soft gasps he replied, “Perhaps… eighty-four.”

Geordi let out a low whistle. “You’re doing great, baby.” Snap. Snap.

He paused at the last connection point and teased the unit with its mismatched plug, edging it into the awaiting port, edging it out before it could click into place. Data’s brow knit together, lungs inflated to bursting, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but did not. A final snap, and as the heel of Geordi’s hand bumped against Data’s cortenide pubic arch the android’s body fluoresced wildly and without warning the moan came again, at once gutturally low and splittingly high, like super-heated dilithium tearing through a containment field, like a lightning strike over the Opal Sea, like—

Geordi became acutely aware of how untouched his erection was. He swallowed, and his voice came out hoarse. “I guess that’s our hypothesis confirmed.”

“Yes,” Data murmured. “Manipulating my internal components while my sexual programming is in effect triggers novel pleasure-adjacent responses.”

“Pleasure-adjacent…” Geordi ground against the back of Data’s thigh and moaned a little himself. “So… it’s really an involuntary reaction?”

“Yes.”

Sometimes metaphor had no substitute. “And it  _ does _ feel good?”

“It is— unique and intense. It is highly gratifying that you are the one triggering these responses. I do not know if there is more to ‘feeling good’ than that. Geordi,” Data spoke with deliberation, as though if he were not careful, another ecstatic cry might escape instead. “I would like to introduce an additional variable.”

Electricity jolted from Geordi’s groin up his spine as he remembered what they had planned. “Whatever you say.”

He retrieved a device from his kit and clipped its cable to the base of Data’s spinal cord, just above his internal sexual organ, a component which it had not seem prudent to remove. It was a disruptor, a rudimentary brain, essentially, which would divert sensory direction away from Data’s positronic brain and into Geordi’s hands. He switched it on.

Data blinked. “Foreign body detected.”

As Geordi adjusted the device’s settings, he gave his beloved an idle squeeze. Data inhaled sharply and the engineer’s head shot up.

Data’s eyes darted. “I feel your touch. Here. And here.” He indicated his own shoulder, his face.

Geordi’s hands were firmly planted on the android’s disjointed hips. “Tactile transposition.”

“Yes— it is a singular sensation,” Data breathed. “Rather, a multitudinous one. Go on.”

The engineer stroked his perineum experimentally, brushed over his testicles to grasp the base of his shaft and Data shuddered.

Geordi hissed through his teeth and he rutted into Data’s flank with heightened enthusiasm. “Can you tell me what’s happening for you?”

What  _ was _ happening? Data’s sexual subroutines were active but misfiring, and under the disruptor’s influence, every zone of his body was an erogenous one. Every bit of him begged to meet the input with the appropriate output, complete the interaction, close the circuit, and finding no avenue to do so, formed a feedback loop of keen, unfulfilled yearning, of taking and being unable to give.

He stared at Geordi’s left leg, shin flush against the bed, calf muscle flexing with his shifting weight. “I am not certain.”

Geordi moved lower and his tongue traced the length of Data’s cock, and every millimeter of bioplast thrummed with phantom touches. Data could identify three strains of sensation: First, the dim outline of what he knew he was supposed to be feeling. The contour of desire. His Human-modeled sexual programming formed behavioral prompts, and he chose which ones he would fulfill. Second, the truth of his synthetic body and what was happening to and within it. It asserted itself, made demands the way his self-preservation systems did, unprompted and imperative. Third, and above all: Geordi. Data drew the first syllable of the name out as if from the depths of an oceanic trench, stuttered mechanically on the second one for what seemed like an age, and dismounted with a staticky crackling sigh. He felt Geordi’s hardness trapped between their bodies, then felt it again as the rippling aftershocks of the touch coursed over him.

Geordi took a hand off of Data and began touching himself. “God, you’re beautiful. I—”

“Please—” Data lifted himself halfway off the bed, spine flexed at an outrageous angle, and clamped powerful fingers around Geordi’s wrist.

The organic Human’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-yes! Baby, what is it?”

“I need—” A faint roar of white noise beneath Data’s voice. “There is— an unbearable emptiness.”

Data did not have processing power available to puzzle out the series of expressions that shifted across his lover’s face. “Do you want—?”

“Yes.”

“I— I don’t wanna move you.” Geordi peered around Data’s hips. “The angle is kind of— Your leg—”

“Remove it.”

Geordi’s eyebrows arched over his VISOR.

“Geordi.” Androids can not experience desperation. “Geordi, it is intolerable. Please—”

Data clawed at the invisible seam in the bioplast at his hip. At this Geordi started, and scrabbled inside his tool kit. He pushed the frantic hand away.

“Come on, enough. You’ll make an easy job hard that way.”

He inserted the tool’s probing end into the fleshy seam in two, three, four places, then gave Data’s thigh a wrenching twist. Warning messages flooded Data’s neural net as the limb came away in the engineer’s hands. With effort, Geordi tugged it across his lap and let it fall off the bed with a resounding thud. As he leaned deeply over the dismantled body to retrieve lube from the night stand, Data wrenched himself into his orbit and brushed kisses over all that he could reach. If he could make Geordi feel it too, dozens of mouths against his skin, dozens of hands— Geordi sat back and pressed slick middle and ring fingers against the android’s opening. Data arched into the pressure. The fingers slipped inside, and a warped, atonal sob tore from his throat. Waves of penetration rolled over his skin. His thoracic fans sped into even greater animation and blew themselves over.

Geordi shivered and swore. “If you go on like that…”

His free hand traveled to the stump of Data’s leg and played over the bisected layers of simulated muscle and fat, the plugs of nervous tissue and unwed wires. Data’s voice lost the last of its Human color. He uttered a final, flat demand:

“More.”

Geordi gave it, expressing his relief with another groaned expletive as Humans are wont to do, and every inch of Data felt tight, and filled, and complete.

7 July 2335, a day of record rainfall. Deidre Calder, Omicron Theta’s resident field siesmologist, took shelter from the downpour beneath a ragged outcropping of rock and tapped out a feverish message to her wife:

_ When I get home, I’ll plant myself between your thighs and not leave until the oscillations of your body are measurable on the Richter scale. I want you dripping down my chin. I want to fuck you so you know exactly how I love you. _

Data’s back was flat against the ceiling and he watched Geordi fuck him from above. Interlace lines streaked his vision as Geordi’s strong back flexed and his hips pumped. Data spoke and his own voice echoed in his head.

“It is not possible for me to be seeing this.”

“Doesn’t matter what’s possible.”

He looked in the direction of the voice. A meter to his left Deidre Calder was lying propped on her elbows, silver curls tumbling up— down, rather— from the crown of her head, breasts flattened against her chest by their own gravity.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m no cyberneticist, honey, but I’m fairly certain you’re dreaming.” A drop of something trickled from the corner of her mouth and up her cheek. She licked her lips. “And I dream impossible shit all the time.”

Data closed his eyes, saw the ocean, opened them again. “But I am awake.”

“That’s the other Soong boy,” whispered the raven-haired beauty writhing beneath Deidre, trailing long fingers up her arm. By way of reply, the siesmologist crushed their mouths together, and Data felt the impact reverberate in his emptied chest. He reached out and as his fingertips grazed skin the ceiling split along a fault line and the lovers were carried up and away from him, and hot soil and rubble poured into his mouth as he protested again:

“But Dr. Calder, I am awake.”

“Data?”

He blinked and felt the give of the bed under him, Geordi’s weight on his pelvis, heavy. Geordi spoke again but Data couldn’t parse the words— after an achingly slow system sweep, he found he had lost connection with the ship’s computer, his own linguistic processing core, and Federation Standard along with it.

The engineer’s bemused face solidified and his lips shaped the dialect of his terrestrial home. “Data, you’re speaking my language? Who’s doctor so-and-so?”

“Four years ago I converted the default language of my neural net to Somali.” Data’s ears rushed with static. “It seemed prudent that, in the event my native universal translator became inoperative, I maintain the ability to communicate with you. And Dr. Calder is a siesmologist. Who is dead.”

The smiling face wasn’t smiling anymore. “Baby, your voice— I can’t make out—” The static in Data’s head blocked out his hearing entirely, but he read the words on Geordi’s lips:  _ Maybe we should stop. _

No, they certainly should not. In fact, stopping is precisely the opposite of what they should do. They should continue. Or begin again. An eternal repetition of beginning, perpetual starting and no end. Or let starting consume ending, so it is one experience, not contrastless dark without light or pleasure without pain but one encompassing sensation, not 01011001 01001111 01010101 00100000 01000110 01010101 01000011 01001011 01001001 01001110 01000111 00100000 01001101 01000101 but the singular, unified  _ O. _

On the ceiling Dr. Caldera’s wife cried out wordlessly _ , _ and Data understood exactly what she meant.

He laid a hand on Geordi’s. “Do not stop.”

Geordi studied his face for a long moment, and at first Data thought he must not have understood. And then, he  _ (he, _ that marvel of organic sentience with a bubbling laugh, stronger-than-optimal caffeine dependency, and unshakable steadfastness of spirit) groaned sweetly, deep in the back of his throat, a rumbling vocalization so laden with affection and tenderness and joy that even a being unversed in the language of emotion could not mistake it. The engineer’s left hand curled around the crest of Data’s pelvic bone, the fingers of the other dug into the wall of densely woven silicone muscle fibers that lined the android’s backbone, and with the butt of Data’s disconnected leg pricking and nipping at the plushness of his abdomen, he spilled inside.

Warning klaxons blared mutely in Data’s head. The heat of Geordi’s come echoing over his skin registered as type-2 phaser fire: by rights, he should be soaking into the bedspread.

When Data came like a Human there was an amount of satisfaction in the act. It was a symbol of connection, of joinedness. The appearance of his pleasure gave Geordi pleasure, which was rewarding to Data in ways he could not fully articulate. But he was never undone. Never lost. Tonight, the synesthetic red of warning bled into the white of sure safety, and Data saw pink, and he felt pink, and he breathed and the air was pink, and on his tongue he tasted pink. A colony’s worth of loves played in his mind:

_ Walking by the water this evening brought to my recollection the— _

— _ way you looked this morning, god fucking damn it. I haven’t gotten any work done today. You know I actually have shit to do besides fantasize about your ass, right? I’m looking at— _

— _ a future with you, more than I could have dreamed of. From the day we met you were a window, looking out on a life more wide-open than I thought possible, and— _

— _ Paul gave us that look. Something like, you know you two blockheads are a perfect match, wasting all this time on— _

— _ something I wasn’t when all along I could have been me, and you already loved me. I need to hurry and pick up the kids but I had to tell you I don’t take it lightly. Truly. And I’ll tell you every day— _

— _ so you know exactly how I love you. In my way. See you tonight, gorgeous. -D. _

And with a reboot so gentle it nearly escaped his overloaded notice, it was over.

Geordi was draped trembling over his hip. His hands were still knotted in muscle tissue, and the surrounding area thrummed, but the tactile confusion caused by the disruptor had ceased: Data’s passive programs, like an immune system, had already written around the device’s influence. He wrenched his arm to stroke a sweat-beaded shoulder, and Geordi’s face lifted, VISOR-less— when had he removed it?— and bleary-eyed. He moved to prop himself on an elbow, slipped, and swore as he narrowly missed planting it in Data’s biofluid reservoir.

“Hey, you,” he blinked, blissfully disoriented. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

He yawned. “Are you good? Things were weird for a minute.”

“Things were indeed weird. I dreamed.”

Geordi’s eyebrows lifted, alarmed. “You were asleep? I don’t like  _ that.” _

“I was very much awake. It was most peculiar.”

“Okay, good.” At length, the tension faded from Geordi’s face. “Huh. So your dream program got tripped. I hope it wasn’t a bad one, anyway.”

“Not at all. It was— the kind I usually keep to myself.”

That bubbling laugh. Geordi trapped Data’s wandering hand and kissed the knuckles.

“Geordi?”

Another yawn. “Yeah, buddy.”

“I am currently operating on forty-seven percent of my normal processing power. Would you—”

“Oh, god, of course. Forty-seven? Damn.” He tugged his VISOR out from where it wedged between Data’s shoulder and the bed. “Just a second.”

One particular eerie poker night Beverly had described how, after surgery, a humanoid’s organs could be tossed more or less unceremoniously back into their body, and would navigate to their ideal configuration on their own. Data’s body was nothing like that. Geordi staggered to the bathroom to clean his hands, then set about piecing the complexity of him back together. The playlist had looped. Data tapped a finger in 3/4 time.

Geordi pressed a kiss to one glistening vertebrae before slotting the last panel into place. “What was your orgasm like? Any different than usual?”

Data shifted to a half-reclined position against a mound of pillows and rolled his shoulders experimentally. He did not become stiff like an organic Human would, but having his mobility restored was— nice. “The experience as a whole was extremely pleasurable, though I am not certain I climaxed at all.”

Geordi, lugging the delinquent leg over the edge of the bed, looked at him sidelong. “Then what is that?”

Eyes traveled down the length of Geordi’s arm to a yellowy stain on the comforter. Data frowned in surprise. “I did not realize.”

“What the hell was going on in your head if you didn’t even notice you’d come?” The leg reattached with a series of satisfying clicks.

Data’s mouth curled thoughtfully. “A great deal of program generation, for one. I have identified more than fourteen thousand contentless subroutines created in the last hour. I will purge them presently.”

Throwing down a towel Geordi collapsed at Data’s side, and Spot materialized at his, squarely on the hot patch where Data’s subprocessors had been. He scratched between her ears. “Guess our little experiment left us with more questions than answers.”

Data hummed in concurrence. “Further investigation is undoubtedly necessary. Was it pleasant for you as well?”

“God, yes! Very. The only part I  _ didn’t _ like was this.” He drew a finger down the cut outer edge of Data’s chest panels. The scalpel had melted the bioplast, giving it a cauterized look.

Data caught his hand and pressed it to his body. Warm. “It is easily reparable. And well worthwhile.”

Geordi smiled, and for the first time in one hour, forty-six minutes kissed lips he knew to be golden, and the sound Data made was like—

**Author's Note:**

> the concept of daforge shared quarters just makes my heart go ,,,,,
> 
> next you oughta check out DamsonDaForge's [If You Like Piña Coladas ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224950), another fic in which a make-data-climax device is used. I didn't set out to emulate the concept but it was similar enough that I wanted to shout it out, plus it's just an angsty good time!
> 
> tumblr // strangesaturday
> 
> come hang out in the [daforge discord server!](https://discord.com/invite/qMAGw5BqXg) (18+ only, please)


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